


Psychoanalysis Is A Joke

by starsurfer108



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 13:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16517183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsurfer108/pseuds/starsurfer108
Summary: An imprisoned Batman is guarded by Harley Quinn, former psychiatrist from Arkham. Meant to be in character. ONESHOT. COMPLETE(originally posted 2012 at ff.net)





	Psychoanalysis Is A Joke

Hazy whirls and swirls and random thoughts crossed Batman’s mind as he started to regain consciousness. In an instant, the pieces of the puzzle came together and he realised he was strapped to something metal.

The Joker started cackling.

“So _glad_ you could join us, Batman! You’ll be able to witness first hand my _finest_ invention – a gas that causes people to become sane, like me!” he announced grandly.

Regaining his bearings Batman realised he was tied to a missile. Tightly, too.

“In one hour, this missile will be released into the atmosphere above Gotham and it would be mine for the taking! I’m waiting until sunrise because it’s no fun people screaming if they can’t actually see each other, you know. So you got one hour, Bats.”

“Joker, you’re mad!” came the almost stereotypical response.

“Only while I’m outnumbered, dear fellow,” the Joker said, laughing.

Batman grunted, struggling against his bonds. No point reasoning with the guy.

“Harley, be a _good_ girl and make sure he doesn’t escape in the meantime?” the Joker asked dryly, his tone reflecting the anguish of his past failed attempts to stop the Bat.

“Sure thing, Mista J,” Harley giggled.

Joker made sure she saw the serious look in his eyes – he wanted this plan to succeed – and the door slammed shut as he left.

“Isn’t it great, Bats? The three of us united for the grand opening of the _redecoration_ of Gotham City. And you’re going to get a front-row chair, hee hee!” She proudly looked at the nails on her hand which were filed meticulously.    

Batman remained stoic, his mouth slightly contorted in disgust.

“You know what you need, Bats? A liii-ttttle reflection time,” she said in her sing-songy voice. “Reflection on… say… why you’re soooo serious and stuck in this situation because you chose to track us, when INSTEAD… you _could_ be… say… eating out at fancy restaurants and living the high life with lots of beautiful women!” She laughed.

The prisoner gave a small sarcastic huff. Oh, the irony that she would suggest the very thing he felt trapped into doing in order to maintain his façade.

“So ya HAVE had a little fun in your life, huh? Who woulda thought?” Harley grinned maliciously as she sidled over.

He gave a small grimace, shocked and only too aware that he was giving too much away. His body twitched a bit, showing he was uncomfortable.

“Are you so sure that _the_ _Batman_ is who you really are?” she said in a lower tone as she bent over, bringing her face closer to his, making sure he could see the serious expression on her face and observing his reaction closely.

Batman’s eyes widened for a split second, showing a tell-tale sign that living it up really was a significant part of his life, even though he denied it was truly him. His clenched smile fell as the seed of self-doubt was examined, and his breathing became noticeably quicker.

“You know, when you get all silent, I know that I’m getting close,” she purred into his ear. Batman remained still, relying on the age-old rule to never trust these people, even if they were seeing things in him that were too close for comfort.

“Did you ever know how I met Mr. J?” she continued in a slightly more jovial tone, turning away from him and animating her arms. “I helped him escape because I felt sorry for him. I was treating him as a psychiatrist, and I let him go.”

Batman let out a small snort.

“It’s true,” she said, responding to his doubt, turning to look at him. “And if you let me in,” she drawled, “who knows – maybe I’ll let you go too!” She gave out a cruel laugh. “Hey, it’s the best chance ya got,” she said, winking.

He remained silent, weighing his options. Who knows if it was a genuine curiosity about him or just another way to torture him – psychologically. Either way, it wasn’t really helping his situation as he was sure she’d prepared for the possibility he’d try to manipulate her feelings, considering she was practically inviting him to try.

“Surely the great Batman isn’t going to crumble by answering a few questions?” she asked derisively.

She could see his muscles tense as he tried to covertly test the strength of his restraints.

Batman sighed. “What do you want, Harley?” he asked in an annoyed but serious tone.

“Just a chance to get ta know ya, that’s all,” she giggled cruelly. “I mean, I kinda feel sorry for ya, dedicating yourself to unfair battles… I feel I owe it to make the last hour of your life a bit better, ya know?” she said while walking around the room, waving her arms around.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Batman replied stoically, aware of the discrepancy given his current situation but obviously not wanting to give into this nonsense.

“Ahahahaha!” Harley laughed, and turned around, looking him dead in the eye. “You think you’re so different from the people you’re trying to catch?” she said with a grin, placing both hands on her hips at the affront.

“I’m not like you people,” he almost growled.

She leaned forward, hovering over him. “Why… so… serious? Methinks you’re trying to prove you’re soooo different from us just a _little_ too much…” she said, gazing at him, placing her elbow on his chest and cupping her chin with her hand, her eyelids falling slightly to reveal a knowing look in her eye.

Batman remained staring at her, automatically considering the implications and validity of her words despite the fact she was his enemy and couldn’t be trusted.

She continued. “Did you know that while I was working at Arkham, we had a cell specially prepared for you?” She cocked her head. “Under government orders.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “Even if that were true, it’s not my problem if the authorities don’t trust me.”

“And that’s exactly why I want to know what brought about the great Batman – why you’re so internally driven like this – never bending your morals, doing what you think is right even if the authorities don’t support you, saving the lives of those who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you… yeah, I wanna know.” She now leaned on him with her other elbow as well so both hands were cupping her chin. 

Batman remained looking at her - his mouth showing distaste for the situation. She’d demonstrated how perceptive she was, and any fake story would immediately be picked up. Even though he wouldn’t bet on being able to escape this way, at least it would keep her busy.

“Fine. But I’m not going to mention particulars,” he said nonchalantly.

“So I can’t locate your identity, as opposed to just ripping off your mask to expose you now?” she asked coyly with a raised eyebrow.

He stiffened. He didn’t have a good answer for that. “I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Harley leered at him in an exaggerated way. “Yeah… because we wanna kill _Batman_.” At least he could tell it was an honest answer – perhaps it would even help develop rapport and encourage him to be honest in return.  

Batman instinctively became more uncooperative at the death threat. “Quid pro quo. I’ll answer your questions, but you have to tell me what the Joker said that made you want to release him.”

“So ya want ta get ta know ya enemy, hey?” she smiled knowingly, referencing what she said before about them not really being so different.

“While we’re simply chatting,” he said in a deadpan voice.

“Alrighty then,” she said. She rose to pace around the room, and motioned with her hand for him to begin.

He took a deep breath. “I became Batman because my parents died.”

“Oh really?” she grinned. “You think it’s as simple as that?”

“Actually, yes.” He frowned slightly, faint annoyance in his voice.

“Oh no, no, no… there’s a whole heap of underlying reasons! What you’ve said was just scratching the surface.”

Batman looked at her, trying to predict her motives, not sure if she really was in ‘psychiatrist’ mode.

“I’m surprised you answered honestly, though,” she said, grinning in her slightly sadistic way.

“Why? I’ve got nothing to hide.”  

She laughed, a genuine laugh this time. “You wouldn’t know it from the sight of you, masked vigilante!”

Batman didn’t reply, but the humour wasn’t lost on him as the edges of his mouth relaxed ever so slightly.

“So your parents died…” she continued, now sitting down and filing her nails again.

“Mm-hm..”

“…and you spend your life hunting down people like those who killed your parents?”

Batman tensed, instinctively not liking where this was going.

“That must really have affected you to your core, huh?” she said, examining her nails.

Batman remained silent and his forehead creased as he remembered those feelings – loss, anger, desire for revenge...

“You’re really good at this,” he said rather wearily, but clearly hinting that it could be interpreted as her wanting to go back to her life before she became a criminal.

She looked up at him, all humour gone from her face, angry at the implications. “Please. This much is very obvious,” she said coldly. On the surface she’d ignored him, but her tone clearly showed her resistance to his probing.

Her mouth tersed, and she glanced to the side. Considering her next steps, she busied herself filing her nails, aware that she couldn’t get angry with her patient despite his uncooperative remarks - an automatic professional response for whenever a patient tries to test the boundaries and get personal information.  

Batman noticed all this, and it showed that she was genuinely falling into the role of a psychiatrist, even though, worst case, it was simply out of amusement.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked something so personal,” Batman said.

“Hm!” she responded, giving a rather muted smile as she spread her fingers and examined her nails. She did like the way he was also observant, and also thought deeply about things – she wouldn’t have been able to have gotten to him before if he didn’t reflexively consider the meaning of her words.

“So…” she said, recollecting herself. “You mentioned before that your parents’ death was the pivotal point in you becoming Batman… sounds like you really miss your parents…”

Batman remained quiet – his forced stoic expression indicating the maelstrom of emotion going on beneath the emotional mask. Finally he said “They died protecting me.”

Harley sighed. “Ya know, Bats, that’s such an intellectual statement. We’re not going to get anywhere unless you admit what you’re feeling.”

“I… miss them,” Batman said stiffly. “And I hate myself for their death,” he added. Damnit, she can have what she wants – just try to stay focused on a means of escape.

“There, now – was that so hard?” she grinned, and went back to manicuring. Batman’s mode of survival was to keep his emotions under control – once they were let out, it was obvious it was hard to stop the flow. What a complete amateur – like putty in her hands.

Her smile faded as she considered the implications of his words and the pain he must have gone through. “Surely there wasn’t anything you could have done at the time?”

Batman remained silent. Finally he spoke. “I… don’t know. I think about that question… often.” He felt like a lab rat on a board, slowly being dissected, against his will. And there was nothing he could do about it.

“Sounds like you’re being too hard on yourself,” responded Harley, looking inquisitively at him.

Batman stiffened. Harley could tell he was becoming angrier.

She regrouped. “See, that’s your problem – you hate yourself.” She paused to let the words sink in. “Who woulda thought – the great Batman, protector of the innocent – _hates_ himself.” she added as an afterthought, chuckling.

Batman just lay there, exposed in a way that no armor could protect him, aware the situation was going from bad to worse. “Glad someone’s having fun with that,” he almost spat.

Harley finished laughing, and adopted a more serious tone. “You hated yourself for your parents’ death, and you hate yourself now. From that we can see that you consider yourself to be identified with Batman, especially because it was their death that caused you to become Batman.”

Batman grimaced, helpless as his old wounds were reopened.

“So we can see that there are a few things going on here. Firstly, you want to feel worthy of your parents’ death – like an apology to them – you might not have been able to protect them then, but you can now?”

Batman did what he could to keep it together, even though his senses were being battered from the psychological onslaught.

“Perhaps some of that blame for their death comes from the likelihood that you weren’t the way you are now – if you had been more responsible, more concerned with others, if you had started to become the Bat on your own accord… then maybe they’d have stood a chance?”

Batman let out a soft but audible cry of pain as he momentarily lost his senses.

“And because you didn’t become responsible – you hate yourself because theirs was a necessary sacrifice – you don’t think you’d be fighting crime if it hadn’t happened. On the one hand you’re proud of what you are, it’s the right thing to do – but on the other hand, they _had_ to die for you to become what you are now. You might never have thought of becoming the Batman otherwise.”

Batman’s teeth were gritted, and he was getting closer to hyperventilating.

“Deep down, you’re just as vulnerable as you were then. An emotional mess that is the Batman.”

“No…I…” he muttered instinctively as he strained against his bonds.

She went in for the kill. “And about your other identity…you’re all too quick to disown that part of you that you’re not so proud of… you want to keep far away from that which your parents would disapprove of, that which _killed_ your parents, yet I’d say you keep it up a bit too much to be simply an act…”

“Shut up!” Batman yelled, violently thrashing about. His grunts of agony continued as he blindly and uncontrollably tried to escape. The sheer force caused a dent in the rocket, and the jagged fins on one of his gloves stuck underneath a panel. She didn’t notice.  

Finally he gathered some semblance of control. “It doesn’t matter what I feel – all that matters is that criminals like you are locked up!”

“But you feel better letting it out, huh?” she said gleefully, undaunted by his attacks.

He looked at her with absolute hatred from the torture he’d just endured. His mind was in a whirl – he couldn’t be bothered to consider the possibility it was therapeutic – he just knew that he didn’t ever want to willingly impose that level of pain on himself, especially since he was entirely vulnerable.

She laughed cruelly. “Well, Batman, it’s been a pleasure… whether or not I’ve improved the last few moments of your life, maybe the pain of having your body torn to shreds won’t be as painful in comparison…”

The rockets at the end of the missile ignited. Batman concentrated on prying the panel a bit more by slowly rotating his wrist.

“Oh! I almost forgot – my end of the bargain… you may as well know… truth is, the Joker not insane. He just acts that way. Helps with sentencing, you know,” she said, relishing in the revelation.

Batman’s jaw dropped.

“Bet your world’s crashing down now!” she yelled triumphantly as the rocket gave another shudder.

She gave another laugh. “Toodles…” she said, turning around and walking out the door, leaving Batman to his fate.

No time to waste. He’d pried the panel enough to have room to move. With a wrist free, he used his elbow to smash into the rocket. The rocket started to fire at full throttle just as he grabbed the guidance chip from its socket. Relying on his reflexes, he freed himself and used the rope to hang from a ceiling hook, leaving the rocket to crash into nearby area.

Landing on his feet, he phoned in the details to Commissioner Gordon and ran after the fugitives.

Bursting through the door, they were nowhere to be seen – obviously the nearby crash had alerted them to something going wrong. He heard the Joker’s van start in the distance and dashed to the location.

Taking a running leap, he got a Batarang out and smashed it through the roof to give him something to hold on to as the van dangerously swerved left and right, trying to throw him off.

Seeing two solid trees either side of the road, he took his chance and fired some rope, so wound around both trees and created a barrier.

The Joker slammed on the brakes and skidded the van sideways, bringing it to a halt against the barrier. Batman landed in a nearby tree.

Regaining consciousness, he leapt down. Not sure how long he had been out, he peeked through the van door only to be met with a pair of Joker’s boots kicking him and sending him flying.

“Urgh,” he groaned, as he struggled to get to his knees, only to be met with the Joker pointing a gun at him with a victorious grin.

Batman gave a look of pure hatred, snarled and rushed at the Joker. The Joker was momentarily stunned by his foe’s uncharacteristic behaviour which was enough for Batman to overpower them and tie them both up.

“You’ve rather outdone yourself today, old boy,” remarked the Joker with a smile that contradicted his current situation. Obviously he was curious what brought about that sudden change in demeanor.

“All that matters is that justice is served,” he replied stoically, downplaying his moment of animalistic rage.

The Joker turned to Harley. “You know, he’s got the emotional maturity of a ton of bricks.”

Harley looked guilty. “You know, Bats – we all got something that gets to us,” she said, trying to schmooze her way out of this – all but a confession to the Joker.

“ _What?_ ” Joker asked her, angry that she somehow influenced their demise. Harley winced. Joker turned to stare at Batman, trying to get answers out of him.

“Go easy on him, Mista J – he’s been through a lot,” she replied almost compassionately.

Joker looked surprised but remained quiet. Whether that was from sympathy for him or surprise about Harley’s uncharacteristic remark, he didn’t know – but he did know that sympathy from the Joker just didn’t sit right. Batman found himself seething with silent fury.

Wanting to change the subject, the Joker asked rather morosely “So how’d you do it, Bats…”

“I had a sudden burst of strength,” he replied with slight reticence.

Joker immediately shifted his gaze to Harley with accusing eyes. “So the trauma caused by YOU gave him blind strength to release his bonds and cause him to escape!”

She giggled guiltily, knowing she was in trouble. “I didn’t know he could get so strong… he didn’t predict it – right?” She asked, looking at Batman, pleading that he come to her defense.

“That’s right. I’m just lucky, I guess,” Batman said rather dryly for someone so was usually emotionless. 

The Joker laughed. “Who would’ve thought _the Batman_ had a sense of humour?”

There was no visible sign difference on Batman’s exterior, but he couldn’t help but feel belittled that they weren’t taking him as seriously.

The Joker decided to turn it to his advantage. “And any _revelations_?” he asked snidely, referring to Batman’s apparent moment of strength-inducing insanity, hoping to shatter his holier-than-thou perception.

“It’s not going to work, Joker,” he said menacingly.

 _“What’s_ not going to work?” He leered, referring to the fact that he hadn’t mentioned anything specific.

Batman grimaced. “I know what I am,” he stated flatly. Then his forehead creased as he reflected upon the doubt he had experienced before with Harley.

The Joker chuckled. “I feel sorry for _your_ psychologist!”

Batman remained silent.

“You don’t have one… what a surprise…” the Joker muttered. “Well, let me recommend it – they do change your life for the better!” He said, looking adoringly at Harley, referring to his previous escape.

“Oh Mista J – that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me!” she said in her high-pitched squeaky voice.

The Joker’s face changed expression to anger. “But they can also inadvertently destroy your life, too,” he growled, mentioning their current predicament. Harley gave a guilty grin.

Both captives settled into a morose silence, downcast. Batman found himself remembering her words about the Joker putting on an act. He was certainly good at it, if it were true.

The Joker sensed he was being watched, and looked up at Batman. “What is it?” he asked, irritated.

Batman remained silent, continuing to survey him.

“Harley, why is he looking at me like that?” he snapped, furious.

“Ehehe…” she replied, avoiding eye contact.

The Joker looked at her. “Harley – you drive me _nuts_.”

She squeaked guiltily “Sorry, boss.”

Police sirens were starting to be heard. Screeches were heard as the police cars came to a halt.

Commissioner Gordon leapt out of his car, and saw the Joker and Batman having a staring competition. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Some interesting news came my way which sheds doubt on the Joker’s mental state.”

The Joker sneered. “Can an actor permanently live the part and still be an actor? By that theory, if I acted normal, you’d release me, wouldn’t you?” he said grinning as he was led away.

Harley was lifted up by the constables. “It’s not your fault, you know,” she said softly with a subdued smile as she was passing him.

“You’re sick, Harley,” he said, disgusted. Out of context, it would have appeared as genuine concern, but considering how she was reveling in his misery before, she didn’t deserve any gratitude.

Sensing that Batman was on edge, Gordon decided to not pry as it seemed like a personal issue.

“Report’s back on the rocket they found crashed. There wasn’t anything in it except a small amount of explosives. If it had just gone off in the air like it was programmed, it wouldn’t have hurt anyone,” Gordon said in his authoritative voice.

“Anyone except me…” Batman mused. Was Joker implying that Batman was the source of the city’s sanity and security?

“What?” Gordon queried, turning around.

But the Batman had already disappeared.

-0-

Bruce sat on the side of his bed, absorbed in all the issues that were brought up from his painful past. Suddenly he burst into peals of laughter. He really did feel better, feel lighter for talking about it – the greatest gift one could give him, an almost impossible gift… and coming from his worst enemies.

What a joke.

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to keep them in character – it was difficult, saying ‘ya’ for ‘you’ – eventually I thought that Harley was resorting to her psychiatrist self. If I wrote every ‘you’ as a ‘ya’, I found it distracting. Hey, if Batman can be the playboy Bruce Wayne, then it stands to reason that Harley can have a more serious side too. ;)
> 
> Also, I do believe that examining past wounds is therapeutic as opposed to letting them fester – it’s just that Harley was doing it in a way that was rather blunt. She is his enemy, after all.


End file.
